The Victor Documents
by Tahrim
Summary: Before the main trilogy, 73 other boys and girls competed in and won The Hunger Games. Faced with impossible odds, they overcame the greatest challenge in the history of Panem and survived, escaping the misery that haunted so many others. The stories of these incredible people deserve to be documented, and in order to make atonements with our past, they must be.
1. Prologue

**_Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins, nor will I every be. The Hunger Games is her property and I am only attempting to create a story revolving around the wonderful world that she's created, with no intent of monetary gain or plagiarism. That being said, I hope that all potential reader's of this story enjoy it!_**

* * *

The Hunger Games were a tradition that developed from a need of atonement in the Capitol. In order to appease this need, they created a form of death games that struck fear into the hearts of all in the districts and created an environment ripe for rebellion. After 74 years, the districts finally choose to free themselves from this barbaric tradition, and in doing so, showcased the need for the preservation of the stories of these games. Before Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, before the Mockingjay, 73 other victors came, victors who shaped the rebellion decades before it officially began, and victors who shaped Panem as a whole throughout their years of life. Some are legendary, like Finnick Odair and Haymitch Abernathy, others are more secretive, such as Abigail Lester and Jasmine Pentacle, but each left a lasting impact on this country, whether good or bad.

The documents will focus on these victors; beacons of hope, defiance, hate, and privilege. It looks at their stories, their lives, and their motives, in order to educate us about our shared history as a people. Preserving the past is the key to making a better future, and with this, we begin that process. So let us toast to these incredible people and let us never forget them!

\- ( _Siberius Ravencroft, Minister of Education, at a banquet commemorating the compiling of The Victor's Document's)_

* * *

**_A quick prologue before we get to the good stuff! I'm incredibly excited to be starting this, and though it's my first attempt at anything like it, I'm looking to make sure it _****_succeeds!_**


	2. Herodius

**_Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins, nor will I every be. The Hunger Games is her property and I am only attempting to create a story revolving around the wonderful world that she's created, with no intent of monetary gain or plagiarism. That being said, I hope that all potential reader's of this story enjoy it!_**

* * *

_**Excerpts from The Treaty of Treason:**_

"_In the beginning, there was a place known as North America, housing our ancestors, primitive people who managed to develop nations across the land."_

"_First came war, battle after battle, fought over resources, land, or ideology."_

"_The ocean's rose and overtook the continent, forming new landmasses and destroying the old."_

"_Famine's, drought's, plague's swept the land. Millions died, and the survivors were forever tasked with rebuilding a broken nation."_

"_Then came the Capitol, built up within a sanctuary of mountain's, housing the greatest minds of the nation, who prospered easily, creating a dazzling city that forever strived for peace and innovation."_

"_Then came the districts, each assigned a specific role, in order to keep the body that was Panem intact. If a single one choose to leave, just as with an organ, the entire system would collapse."_

"_The Capitol did everything for the districts, and yet they rebelled, lead by the foolish District 13."_

"_After a hard fought war, plagued by horrors inflicted by rebellious forces, came victory. As punishment, District 13 was destroyed, a victim of its own blindness. As for the rest of the districts, who so blatantly disrespected and threw out the Capitol's kindness, they must be given their own form of punishment."_

_"In penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up a male and a female between the ages of 12 and 18 at a public "reaping". These tributes shall be delivered to the custody of the Capitol. And then transferred into a public arena, where they will fight to the death until a lone victor remains. Henceforth and forevermore this pageant shall be known as "The Hunger Games."_

* * *

As I rise into the arena, I can't help but feel caged.

The sun is blinding, blazing in it's full summer glory, causing the sweat already forming in my nervous state to be exacerbated.

Stone walls completely encircle the area that me and twenty three other children share, some of us crippled with fear and others standing rigid, unsure of what exactly will occur in the next few minutes.

Sand covers the ground, coarse, and yet smooth, perfect for the bloodstains that will soon be soaked into the virgin soil. Weapons are scattered everywhere; axes, swords, rapiers, silver objects that even I cannot name.

Weapons meant for museums - ancient artifacts in comparison to the advanced weaponry we now possessed, but watching quick deaths from bullet wounds wouldn't be gory or fun enough.

And here I stand in the famed arena, the stadium that had been in construction for months, even before the official announcement of the Games. It's quite small, maybe a few yards across in total. Me, and the rest of the tributes, stand in a ring of pedestals, covered by a stone slab that provides some shade. Unfortunately, the weapons aren't close enough to the pedestals for you to quickly grab one and kill the tribute right next to you.

Citizens of the Capitol can be seen right above us, sitting in stands securely protected by force fields, the electric barrier shimmering in the light. Preened like peacocks, they look grotesque.

The sun shines onto their faces, revealing the rough texture of the white makeup they have caked on. Their clothes are more so ridiculous art pieces than actual wearable fabric. Garish designs, oversized couture, and candy colored wigs dominate, making them more like cartoons than bloodthirsty and excited witnesses to murder.

Jewelry is abundant, reflecting beams of sunlight, glistening like the unattainable object they are. Crystal goblets and glasses are raised up in a toast, waiting to be drunk as soon as the timer hits 0.

The timer … I had almost forgotten about it. It slowly ticks, heading towards the point where a bloodbath will occur, and child after child will be killed.

Will I be one of them?

No, no, I'm ready for this. I am prepared for this, I will win. I above all understood what would happen. Most of the children here are the children of rebel's, the children of only _the _most famous rebel's.

Looking around, I recognize most of them: Sisters, separated by the war and yet still managing to end up here, from 9 and 10. The ingenious Horatio Phylum, District 3 rebel that helped invent the bombs that ravaged the streets of the Capitol. The girl from District 6, whose face was plastered across wanted posters for months after she orchestrated a train collision that killed several prominent Capitol officials. All criminals, created by a barbaric war.

As for me, and my district partner, we are innocent. So are those from 1 and 5, we stayed with the Capitol for the most part during the war, knowing that betraying them would do us no good, and even with our support, the other districts had to outnumber us and force us to partake in these games. Condemning the innocent to this horrendous fate.

My father had a feeling as soon as the games were announced, we had been staunch Capitol supporters, he knew that they would want a victor from his kind. The war had already trained me, but my father still pushed me to keep working, and luckily, he had been right.

While I knew the workings of a gun, wielding a weapon as archaic as a sword didn't come easily. Memories of my training are dim, obscured by the whirlwind of the past few days.

Recalling the reaping is easy. A man swathed in rolls of chiffon and with a ridiculous voice clawing through the reaping bowl, his staring at the slips a little too intent. His metallic loafers had clicked on the stage before suddenly being followed by him reading a name, _my name._

Walking up onto that stage took years, my labored steps quietly taking me to my fate. I simply stood on the stage, rigid and unforgiving as everyone slowly stared at me, sizing up their first ever tribute. The whole ceremony had been rushed, putting all of these people together was only straining finite resources and everything was inevitably finished with a few minutes.

Saying goodbye to my family was easier. My father was as cold as always, a firm handshake sent me away. My mother was sobbing, mumbling prayers under breath as she grasped at me, pulling me in by my jacket collar. Thomas wasn't there, carving out the inside of some mountain had been deemed important enough to warrant him not partaking in the reaping.

The Capitol is harder. The train ride was uneventful, the Capitoline soldier assigned to help guide us barely paying attention, focusing on the decadent food more than me or my district partner.

Our escort was much the same, though he put in more effort. Remembering his grating voice speaking about the most pointless of frivolities still affects me, like nails on a chalkboard.

Being holed up beneath the arena for several days hadn't been the most lavish experience, but we were feed, clothed, and prepared to meet our ends. Little interaction with the others occurred, except for meal times, given that creating bonds right now would make breaking them in the arena much more painful.

My district partner is a sweet girl, from a huge family that had been more passive than anything, and we had become friends during those long hours underneath the arena. Glancing around, I see her right across from me, and I silently hope for someone to get her before I have to.

And just like that, a gong sounds, and the crowd cheers. However, no one moves.

Some start sobbing, knowing that their corpse will soon be the only thing left of them, others seemingly hold themselves back, unsure of what exactly to do.

As for me, I hold my ground, watching the others, making my targets and examining their movements.

The crowds cheering stops, and it soon transforms into jeering and shrieking, calls for blood ricocheting across the arena, their boredom only growing with every minute.

Finally, the boy from 4 snaps. He rushes across the expanse, screaming before scooping up a spear and turning around. With that shouts of ecstasy ring out from the stands.

Others soon come to life and begin the rush towards the weapons. I am one of them.

Scooping up a sword, I can't help but smile, and as a look up, the first ever death from these games occurs.

I witness the boy from 7 bury his axe into the chest of the girl from 3, and watch as all hell breaks loose.

Tributes begin to attack each other, metal meets metal, and blood sprays everywhere. I am among the first to kill someone, the boy from 12 meeting his end to the tip of my sword.

Minute after minute ticks by, and death after death occurs. I am a demon, chopping and slicing victim after victim, their deaths leaving no lasting effect on me, the vision of home guiding me instead.

* * *

The girl from 1 has her head brutally beaten in with the use of a short mace, her killer, the boy from 6, is soon dispensed by her district partner.

Winston, from 5, loses his head and begins charging at the 9 girl, who promptly impales him with her scythe.

Horatio probably the dies in the most gruesome manner, his ribcage crushed with the blunt edge of an awl, blood flying everywhere as he collapses to the group and utters a pitiful screech.

The sister's from 9 and 10 reunite on the battlefield, only to face off against their male counterparts. The battle is slow, and wrung out. Both sides receive their fair share of injuries before the girls fall, and the boys turn on each other right after.

My district partner, Pollia, quietly stays on her pedestal, and eventually vomits before being having her heart pierced with a rapier. Her killer soon falls, a javelin I had thrown very carefully ripping through his flesh.

The girl from 4 basically runs into my sword, and she's soon meet by the boy from 7 and the girl from 8.

The boy from 8 eventually gives up, curling up into a ball and rocking back and forth. How pathetic. Cutting is throat is like running a hot knife through butter.

Soon, only a few of us remain. The girl from 6, and the boys from 1, 4, and 11.

The girl falls first, a spear sticking out of her stomach and her gurgles are met with applause from the audience. I end up in combat with the 4 boy, and only grunts can be heard as our weapons meet, over and over again.

He's sloppy, untrained and barely capable. Invetiably, he exposes too much of his abdomen, and I plunge my sword into his stomach. I finish him off with a quick slice on the jugular, and as he bleeds out, I watch the battle between the boys from 1 and 11.

They both fall multiple times, almost attacking each other lazily. Eventually, a quick swipe of a sickle brings the 1 boy tumbling down, and I stare into the cold eyes of my final opponent.

The Capitol is on the edge of its seat – the crowd is borderline delirious. A final showdown, the ultimate conclusion. We both creep over to the other and within a millisecond, steel meets steel as we both maneuver against that other.

While he may be less skilled, but he has brute strength on his side, his muscles straining with every move of his weapon. A minute passes, and another, and another, with little done, the crowd begins to grow restless.

Surprisingly, I fall to the floor, and I can only look up at the boy with a look of piqued interest. The crowd begins yelling out cries of "Finish him" and he smiles, nearly laughing as he feels victory at his fingertips. As the rich silver of his sickle covers a portion of the sun, I smile.

The short dagger I have hidden in my waistband is pulled out, and I rise up, my sword piercing his ribcage and sending him tumbling back. He convulses, and my smile only grows. The crowd is screaming and I bask in the attention, bloodied, but barely bruised.

Trumpet's sound, and as I hear the announcement of my victory, only then does my smile finally falter.

* * *

_**Every since I originally read The Hunger Games trilogy, I've always been fascinated by the victors and the games themselves over everything else that the series offered. So much possibility can be found in that sphere of Collin's world, and so I've attempted to tackle a project many before me have taken on, creating a fanfiction with one chapter per victor. This chapter is quite short, but for the First Game's I wanted to keep it simple. Hopefully, many more of these chapter's will come, and I can't wait to keep writing. This may be my first ever fanfic, but I'm hoping it isn't one that completely falls into oblivion after one chapter!**_

_**-Tahrim**_


	3. Sebastian

**_Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins, nor will I every be. The Hunger Games is her property and I am only attempting to create a story revolving around the wonderful world that she's created, with no intent of monetary gain or plagiarism. That being said, I hope that all potential reader's of this story enjoy it!_**

* * *

Of all of the hunger games that ever occurred, the 2nd Annual Hunger Games will forever be perceived as "The Lost Games".

Footage, whether it be complete or simply be a recap, was always preserved and stored away in national libraries. Every games could be found on these reels and disks filled with film, footage that became useful when television specials, re runs, and dvd releases began to occur on masse after the Hunger Games truly went into full swing.

The 2nd Games could be considered a near exception to this rule. Perhaps they had been cursed by being between the monumental occurrence that was the 1st, while also being right before a classic games in the form of the 3rd.

What little that was documented on the games is well kept and heavily circulated, readily available for the games enthusiasts that wanted to salivate over the thought of another Hunger Games to watch.

The reaping's had been deemed normal by most standards. A few strong tributes, the usual weaklings, nothing exceptional or subpar, a group that was firmly in the middle.

The same process for processing tributes in the early days went by as per protocol. Forty-eight hours underneath in the catacombs, all the way up until launch time.

The arena is the most well known part of the games, with several hundred stills of it being available in various archives and the collections of gamemakers. They all showcase a relatively simple place, though much more complex than the previous years.

Thick bushes and foliage formed a maze that encircled a grassy plain that held the weapons. For the first time in history, many tributes were able to efficiently hide instead of being forced out into direct combat right away.

The pair from 2 would decimate most of the competition as soon as the gong had rung, calls of protest from the outlier districts who could tell that they had trained being silenced quickly.

After an hour of fighting in the grassy plain, something that resembled the hunting of later career pacts started, with District 2 teaming up with the boys from 1 and 10 in order to come for victims in the maze.

They quickly dispatched many of the weaker tributes who had sought solace in the bushes, rocking in corners or constantly running around in circles.

The order of death couldn't be verified, with the only death clearly recorded being that of the girl from 7, who was impaled with a spear while desperately trying to squeeze her frail and malnourished body through a opening in a bush. Those who killed her would be showered in loving cries from the stand, with a few pieces of luxurious goods falling onto them.

Eventually, the pack assumed that everyone was dead, and turned on each other. Records indicate that the boy from 1 emerged victorious and as he yelled out cries of victory, a moment forever regarded as one of the greatest shocks in Hunger Games history occurred.

The boy from 7, incredibly slight of frame and with nothing but a tomahawk on him, jumped onto his only remaining opponent from the top of a bush, and barely avoided a complete beheading, leaving the Capitol with a victor that they had forgotten was even a participant.

The boy, who audiences who later discover was named Sebastian, was taken out of the arena in horrible condition, covered in scratches and cuts from the thick thorns of the maze, and nearly delirious from several types of poison that had seeped into the cuts.

Several dismissals, and ….. cuts were made to the gamemaker team that year, and a system of cannons was implemented in order to signify the death of a tribute, keeping a unfortunate situation like Sebastian's victory from every happening again.

As far as anyone from his District knows, he was never punished. Simply sent away to live in solitude for most of his life, barring his returns to the Capitol for mentoring.

The games would be stored away in The National Library, tucked into the shining white centerpiece that housed the recordings. However, in a mysterious turn of fate, the disks would be stolen a few years later, and a fire would be set in the underground archives, eliminating all known copies of the 2nd, and causing uproar among Capitolean citizens.

The perpetrator would never be discovered. Security cameras had been disabled for replacement, and the head archivists and librarians couldn't recall a single detail of the crime.

Eventually, larger scandals would overtake the disappearance, and as the years went by, people would continue to forget the details of the games, leading them to be ever the more shrouded in obscurity.

* * *

Very few people remember Sebastian these days, his close friends died years before the war, and given the mass exodus that followed the formation of a free Panem, finding people with an active memory proved to be a challenge.

But in every district, no matter how small, there are always a few people willing to divulge any secret, memory, or piece of salacious gossip for some time and a gift or two.

Victoria Sentinel is one of the more kindred folk, nearly blind, and always craving to spend some time in active conversation.

She distinctly recalled Sebastian's appearance, sandy blonde hair and deep brown eyes, a "real looker" according to her.

* * *

_"He was always walking around the district, carrying children on his shoulders, handing out pieces of chocolate here and there. All the kids adored him."_

_"With adults he was always different, cold he was. I think it was because, because he felt like they were accusing him. Accusing him with their eyes for what they watched him do all those years ago."_

_"The lights in his home would always be on all night. Rumors always were a spreadin' about what he did in there. People would come and go at all hours, with that rate always increasing as the years went on."_

_" I don't really think he had any friends. Mostly just drinkin' buddies and the like. He could down a pint faster than anyone in the district, did some real harm to him as he grew older."_

* * *

By the time you get around the 60's, she and everyone else always blank. He became more secluded, even refused to go to the Capitol some years. When Johanna Mason won, reporters looked for several days before finally locating him holed up in a small inn usually reserved for Capitolean visitors.

The footage showcases and old man, equipped with white hair and a immense beard, incoherently trying to push plumed reporters away as they shoved microphones in his face and screeched out questions.

Luckily, a young woman clothed in burgundy rushes in through the crowd, and pulls him away, shouting at the crowd to leave him alone.

* * *

_"That was Gregoria. Daughter of an old friend. She always talking about things, revolution, before the Mockingjay even came around."_

The question of what happened to her following the rebellion is one that's never been answered. Most census records are long gone, a heap of ashes. And large portions of the rebel forces in 7 were massacred right before Capitol rule was fully overturned.

All that remains is a small home. Dark and desolate. Seemingly abandoned. On the outskirts of the district.

The bare necessities remain, but most of the house is in disarray, as if someone had come in quickly and left just as. The marks on the floor obviously confirming suspicions. Drag marks, likely from the heel of a shoe. A cruel fate for the poor girl.

As for Sebastian, his fate is just as shrouded in mystery. All that's known is that as soon as the arrow hit the force field, he was gone, spirited away into the streets.

Some say they saw a old and begrudged man leading crowds towards the Justice Building, bellowing cries being uttered from his lips. A gleam in his eyes, _life _rushing through his veins.

Others say that they watched him flee into the woods, climbing over a tall fence and rushing into the thick forest, without rhyme or reason.

The final version describes a silver haired man facing off against a squad of peacekeepers, along with a few others. His axe supposedly landed into the chest of several, before hot bullets pierced his skin, and he slowly bleed out, eyes looking up wishfully into the heavens.

* * *

The Victor's Village of District 7 survived the war in near pristine condition, the only casualty being the home of Johanna Mason, now a smoldering wreck, a bomb crater still obvious despite attempts to fill it.

Sebastian's home is the farthest north, a thick grove of cherry trees covering the grounds, with a small gravel pathway leading to the front door.

Inside, its almost too neat. Objects perfectly positioned on mantels, books in alphabetical order, a spice rack organized by intensity of flavor.

The floorboards creak softly as you walk through it, and a light breeze rushes in through the windows, fluttering the thin, mesh curtains.

Its a near perfect silence, the aromatic smell of cherry blossoms filling the room, a hideaway from the worlds troubles.

A small doorway leads down to the basement, whose only furnishing is a large oak table, surrounded by boxes and boxes filled with a menagerie of differing objects. The table itself has several maps still spread on it, showcasing District 7 in all of its glory, though a map of the Capitol can be found if you look hard enough.

An existence marked by peace, forgotten solitude that still boiled into action, the perfect life for this victor at the least.

* * *

_Upon closer inspection of Sebastian's home, a secret panel was found behind a bookshelf. Inside the dusty hiding place, several disks, all labeled with the number 2 would be found. As the discoverer held one up in wonder, light shined onto the blue tinted plastic, and it softly gleamed._

* * *

**_And another victor is completed! I've always had a particular fascination with the idea of a games that was proverbially "lost to the mists of time". Sorry if the chapter is a bit short, but my idea for it wasn't exactly one that would exceed 3,000 words. Next up is the "classic" 3rd Games, so lets see what they did to earn that title ;)_**


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